Empire
by shakespeareia
Summary: Lord Vader returns victorious from Mustafar, and quickly ascends to the height of galactic power - bringing his beloved wife with him. An exploration into a different form of galactic empire - and the disturbing truth that many of history's most atrocious villains showed the greatest tenderness to those they truly loved.
1. Night

**A.N. - I got the idea, and it simply would not let go…**

**This is my first attempt at ANY kind of Star Wars fic, and I'm not an expert on every detail of the universe – example: I have no idea what kind of breakfast cereals are popular on Alderaan, but I'm sure **_**someone **_**out there does… etc. etc.**

**The idea for this originated a long time ago in some deep part of my brain, when I first saw **_**Revenge of the Sith**_**.**

**Remember this dialogue?**

_**Anakin**__**: Don't you see? We don't **__**have**__** to run away anymore! I have brought peace to the Republic. I am more powerful than the Chancellor, I... I can overthrow him! And together, you and I can rule the galaxy; make things the way we want them to be! You don't believe me, do you?**_

**If that didn't get the queen-bee of what-if fics going in my brain…**

**Now, just to clarify – that's exactly what it is – a What-If. Don't expect this to have a really elaborate plot – it will focus primarily on Anakin's rise to power as the leader of the galaxy (primarily from the perspective of his wife) and how it affected their daily lives, their marriage, and ultimately their family.**

**One more thing, and then I'll leave you to read – this is about as AU as it gets. Disregard the ENTIRE Clone Wars series. Obi-wan never told Padmé about Anakin's change in allegiance. She knows nothing. Anakin slaughtered the Separatists on Mustafar, and drove Obi-wan into submission. He has returned to Coruscant to complete a more personal task. Meanwhile, Padmé waits alone in her apartment, unaware that the universe – as all know it - is about to collapse...**

The night-breeze wafted gently through the gauze drapery, the fine threads of the fabric releasing an almost mournful, singing sound with each touch.

A young woman leaned against the rail of her pent-house balcony, her brown eyes tranquil and undisturbed as she ran the metal comb through her dark curls.

She hummed with the singing of the breeze, relishing the sensation of peace that always presented itself at the close of the day; when the night-streets of the capital world came alive, and she could retreat into her delicate blue bower…

If only he could be with her…

* * *

The blinding sapphire blade of his saber seared through flesh and metal, screams – whether of others or his own he couldn't be sure – ringing in his mind.

Outside, the rivers of molten stone sludged like the boiling, congealing blood he had splattered across the carbo-metal floor.

He left the guards lying in a scorched pile of crimson robes and sizzling flesh – a sweep of his sword made quick work of the emergency safeties on the office door.

The holo-lights had all been dimmed, and a cloaked figure was only just visible – a shadow against the vast window.

Only the light saber's relentless hum disturbed the silence. For a long moment, neither master nor apprentice spoke.

"_This is treason, Lord Vader_…" The emperor croaked at last, turning slowly, his twisted fingers outstretched in readiness…

A force-push smashed him against the carbon-glass, shattering the windowpane instantaneously. The glittering shards tumbled to the pavement hundreds of stories below, yet the deformed being hung suspended mere feet from the blasted wall of the building, his dark robes flapping in the wind as he struggled…

Suddenly the force surged and dragged him back, face to face with the boy he had seduced with darkness.

"You were right about one thing, my master." Lord Vader growled behind clenched teeth.

"I _am _fulfilling my destiny."

Bolts of electric blue shot from the fingers of his flesh hand, and Sidious plummeted to the ground below, his bones riddled with glowing lightning.

The sky darkened once more.

His leather-sheathed fingertips flew over the security controls, a few clicks of a button deleting every file of the last three hours.

This done, Vader turned back to the empty window, the gaze of his blue eyes reaching out towards the elegant spire of the senatorial apartments…

Shaking, he crumpled to the floor beside the enormous desk, and began to sob against his knees.

* * *

"Mistress Padmé –your Cycelia…"

She accepted the demitasse of herbal tea from the droid's gold-plated hand, and leaned back against the ledge. Her eyes calmly watched the traffic surge by the balcony, the night breeze playing with several dark ringlets.

She sipped the tea quietly, caressing her swollen abdomen beneath the smooth, opal pink nightdress. She thought of him.

**A.N. Thoughts? This is only the beginning… **


	2. Holograms

A whimper escaped Padmé's slack lips as a cold, metallic hand brushed her shoulder, wrenching her from her slumber.

"Please forgive me, my lady, but Senator Organa insisted that – "

"Amidala!"

The young woman started as the Alderaan official burst into her bedchamber, his face dotted with a nervous sweat.

"Bail – " She tried to begin, groping for her ruched-silk dressing gown, but Organa merely shoved a porta-projector into her slim hand.

"It's on every holonet frequency -!"

The blue image flickered and wavered a moment, before clarifying.

Her breath caught in her throat…

"… _in an anonymous report tainted by large dead-spots. Witnesses claim that cries could be heard, yet the post-mortem analysis would suggest death occurred exactly three minutes before impact. The Emperor's council declined comment, and gave no indication that there would be any investigation as to the possibility of assassination. His Majesty's patrimony reading has not yet been announced, nor is there _– "

Her gaze lay frozen on the image for a full minute, her blood chilling. But wasn't it to be expected? After his outrageous proclamation of two days ago…

Organa continued to pace the floor, his hands tearing through his black hair.

"Some delegations have managed to negate a fraction of the panic, but there's still no –"

His voice died when the holograph image began to gutter and distort, reconfiguring gradually into a horned, tailed face, decked with great rolls of flab. Mas Amedda seemed uneasy… but who could blame him?

"_In view of the great tragedy that has transpired, the Emperor's estate has agreed to set in place emergency protocol 10-70-5-6 deka 4. All system leaders of the imperial council will report to the interior senatorial chamber at 0-600_."

The holograph flickered, and switched back to the newsfeed.

Both senators shot each other startled looks.

Every politician knew the emergency protocol cipher by memory, yet how many had believed they might ever be required to employ it?

10-70 was the code for political murder. 5-6 stood for the succession and testament readings. Deka 4 was a call for urgency – a polite invitation to panic.

Organa's face gleamed with moisture. Padmé crawled from the shelter of her bed sheets and touched his shoulder.

"Hurry, Bail."

He sighed, and nodded resignedly, before clasping her delicate hand for an instant and racing back to his speeder.

She dropped back onto the bedside, suddenly feeling rather faint… 3p0 hovered anxiously nearby, yet she wasn't in the mood for the droid's well-meaning fussiness.

The galaxy was rudderless, and she was caught in the undertow…

The projector beeped, and she suddenly realized it was still clasped in her hand.

"_Padmé_?"

"Ani?!" she half-cried at the small image, her face gaping and frantic. "Have you - ?!"

"_Are you and the baby alright_?"

Her brow furrowed, but she nodded.

"Yes –"

"_Padmé, listen to me – put the holo shields up, shut off the droids, and close off all communication. I'll be there in an hour. Wait for me_."

"Al-alright, but – Ani, what's -?!"

Confusion and raw fear of the unknown had thickened her voice.

His face transformed from urgent to tender in a flash, his soft lips curling in gentle smile.

"_All will be settled soon, my love- Wait for me_."

The hologram gutted and vanished.

* * *

The dignitaries all wore an identical appearance of anxiety, and their culture's mourning apparel as they filed through the doors to the senate anteroom. It was a modest chamber, with only a few furnishings, all swathed in imperial purple.

The crowd surged forward when the governor appeared, seeming to show as much fear as those he was meant to order –

"I-I think it my duty to - "

A blade of azure light grew from the center of the chagrian's robed chest, and with a grunt of wide-eyed shock he crumbled to the black carpet.

Silence hung in the chamber for a fraction of a second, all eyes fixed upon the cloaked figure looming above Amedda's roasted corpse, the light saber still pulsing in his grip…

The alderaanian king-consort moved forward slowly, his face contorting in something between shock and disgust…

"My lord…"

Searing heat melted through his flesh, and Bail Organa watched his vision slowly fade to black….

The screaming began.

**A.N. – Please review!**


	3. Royal

**A.N. – Firstly, a HUGE thank you to all who reviewed! I didn't expect this to make such a splash! **

**Please continue the support! : )**

The enormous golden sun began to climb above the Coruscanti skyline, metal and synth-steel glittering in the light.

Dark eyes fluttered open as they were penetrated by the warm glow. A groan creased her brow as unused muscles stretched themselves loose, after a night curled on the couch in the veranda, wrapped in her dressing gown…

A familiar, leather-sheathed hand brushed her cheek, and she sighed.

"W-where were you…?"

Her husband only flashed that enigmatic smile, twining her disheveled curls between his artificial fingers.

"Fulfilling our lives."

She sat up by stages, shielding her belly instinctively. "What do you mean?"

His face almost seemed to glow, radiating a kind of ecstasy she had never seen…

"The emperor's testament named me his inheritor."

The air spilled from her lungs in a slow rush, her mouth slack. Her body felt numb…

"H-How…" she gasped.

"Why…"

"Don't ask why, Padmé." Her husband murmured, a thumb stroking her cheek. "Who else could he trust with the throne… With the security of the universe? "

His hands cradled her face, and somewhere beyond the apparent exaltation in his eye she thought she might have seen a flash of desperation.

"Are you pleased?"

Padmé let her eyes drop, and heard his intake of breath.

_We were meant to go home. You told me, after the war was over… Ani, what's happening?_

His voice was shaking.

"Please… say that you're happy. Please…"

Swallowing back her pride, she lifted her gaze back to his blue-grey eyes and managed a weak smile.

"As long as you are."

He smiled delightedly, the relief palpable in the way he sighed and nuzzled her mouth, kissing her desperately.

_He's still that little boy… _

Padmé tried to crush her doubts back – he was strong, he had matured, the war had taught him more of the ways of the universe than anyone could possibly…

_He won't survive…_

* * *

Threepio might well have been over the moons of Lego when he was tuned up and received the news. Padmé could hear him chattering to the handmaids as he bustled through her closet, packing the luggage with mind-boggling orderliness.

"Oh my, to be in the service of royalty! Many droids would sell their last circuit for the honor!"

She smiled slightly and meandered back into the main chamber, her eyes never leaving the carpet as she paced the apartment for the last time.

There were rumors that the senator – no, _ambassador_ – from Ceti VII had already procured the residence from the Naboo embassy, the moment word of the power transfer struck the holonet.

The idea still sounded unthinkable in her mind.

_Empress…_

Typho had been up to his chin in security measures all morning, keeping back the press crush downstairs, and paparazzi droids had swarmed about the windows like insects. One of the handmaids reported that half the human women on the streets below were already sporting her flowing, curled hairstyle…

Anakin had left for the palace earlier – claiming to have some unfinished business.

She couldn't fathom who with – the place was nearly always empty, except for the senior officials and the like…

The hum of engines broke through the silence, the veranda drapes fluttering wildly as a gleaming Nubian barge soared over the tip of the building. Padmé could feel the floor vibrate for a moment as the vessel landed on the roof above, mere minutes before a fully uniformed pair of imperial pilots emerged from the upper access door, marched smartly forward, and dropped into a kneeling bow at her feet.

The breath whuffed from her lungs in something like raw disbelief.

_How did this happen?_

* * *

The palace was a vast collection of spires and pillars, all gleaming in the sunset like burnished bronze.

Padmé tried to ignore the thousands of eyes, restrained by battalions of clones on the landing platform, or gathered at the windows of the hundreds of tour vessels gathered above, all peering for a glimpse of her.

She had dressed simply, despite her handmaids' collective disapproval; a heavy viridescent cloak hooded her face, and shielded her unborn child from scandal-seeking gazes… By the force, she hadn't even considered the baby! What kind of a life were his parents forcing upon him – would she see him at all?...

The holonet cameras continued to flash and buzz, unaware and unknowing…

**A.N. – To clarify any confusion before it starts- think of these first few chapters as a "miniseries" of a sort- those that follow will be of a more "episodic" nature.**

**As always, please leave feedback; it gives me the drive to keep going!**


	4. Coronation

**A.N. – Last "miniseries" chapter, and the longest to date! It's coronation day, and emotions are running high! As always, remember to leave me some feedback!**

**Oh, all characters and settings (except those of my own creation) belong to George Lucas. Just sayin'.**

After today, all would be settled.

It had been all too easy, once Amedda and the leading senators were dead – his name had been simple enough to graft into the data files, onto Sidious's patrimony document… The only difficulty at this point would be the attorney council…

Vader's jaw tightened.

They could be dealt with… eventually. For the present time, it would be necessary to continue the charade of democratic monarchy for as long as possible.

He truly didn't know how his angel had managed not to go mad, devoting her life to this pandemonium. Even the slightest word or decision met with blocks at every turn – it was ridiculous, he fumed silently. Why couldn't they simply get things _done_?

Even today, several sycophantic beauracrats had presented themselves personally, complaining that their messages to the imperial council had been ignored.

He marveled at their stupidity.

Several media droids buzzed away from the window as he leaned against the glass, surveying the awakening city. The sun had only been up four hours, and already the palace district was choked with the citizenry, all anxious to see for themselves if the holonet rumors were true.

They would not be disappointed.

That irritating, nauseous feeling began to churn in his stomach for the eighth time that morning, and with an uncomfortable twinge Vader identified the sensation as nerves…

He hadn't felt this way since the caves of Illum… and his knighting…

Shoving back the memories before they could cause any… regrettable emotion, he tried to convince himself that it was only another step in the process. He could endure it…

She had endured it once, after all…

The faces of the crowd below seemed to swell, and his gorge rose instantly.

Vomit splattered the carpet.

* * *

She hadn't quite believed her eyes when the five-foot long box arrived from the couturier, fitted with a combination lock.

Yet if the packaging had been startling, it was nothing compared to the contents…

Yards of ivory Xiu velvet and shimmer-silk flowed down and over her body like waves of cream, Kiminoan pearls dripping from every edge and fastening, while a festoon of Arkanian diamonds centered at the swell of her belly.

It was a jarring transition – she hadn't displayed such ornate apparel for nearly fifteen years, since departing the throne of Theed…

She paled at the reminder of her current position, and let her eyes sweep over her body yet again.

It was a dreadful waste really, she realized, shame stealing over her mind. The garment could easily have cost the treasury hundreds, if not thousands of credits – more than enough to build at least seven refugee hospitals on three war-torn planets.

She sighed, biting back a tear of anger.

For today only. The people would want a spectacle – as always.

Besides, he clearly wished for them to see her garbed like a… like a woman of her station.

Why else go to such trouble?

Motee and the other maids seemed to enjoy the dressing, draping her in the silk and jewels like a doll, until she couldn't recognize the woman in the mirror. It was alarming – all she lacked was the red and white face paint…

* * *

The populous shouted and roared, craning for a glimpse above high shoulders and eyestalks.

"_I vow to dedicate my efforts to the security of the Empire…"_

The ninety-foot tall holograph boomed across the continent, yet was merely a poor, shallow representation of what took place in the palace throne room.

"…_to defend from all harm and treason…"_

A few aristocrats - enjoying the spectacle from the decks of their luxury cruisers – commented loftily that the young human couple hardly seemed imperial. Oh, Lady Vader was lovely enough – any species could see that – but her husband! Still clad in the leather vestments of the derelict Jedi Order – albeit with a black Xiu velvet cloak trailing eighteen feet from his shoulders…

Some still remembered his days as a war hero, but most who had witnessed those exploits no longer existed – a rumored order from the desk of the late Emperor Palpatine had made certain of that…

"…_to uphold the laws of the galaxy, and dispense justice to all."_

The words having fallen from his lips, he crushed his palm to the energy pad resting on a marble pillar before him. Colored bolts of electricity shot up his arm and over his skin – the stench of burned flesh flooded the throne room, unknown to the billions of onlookers outside the gates.

The transfer of power by pain had been yet another "invention" by the former ruler, though few present were aware of that fact… In the face of so much blind acceptance, one might never so much as suspect that the same politicians had once sworn their lives to democracy, rather than dictatorship…

The lightning faded, and the crowd watched with a single bated breath as Lord Vader slumped over the pillar, breathing raggedly – if he collapsed –

Suddenly his legs straightened, and, with agonizing slowness, his spine followed.

The cry of _Long Live The Emperor _was carried from world to world as the holograph spilled over to each and every generator in the galaxy...

* * *

Padmé allowed herself to be led through the crowd of groveling aides, her hand resting upon her husband's wrist.

The skin of his palm was grey and charred, and _had_ to be painful, yet his features were like stone.

"_Your highness… Majesty… Milady… Lady Vader…"_

Lady Vader_…_

She swallowed back her confusion and pain, and flashed a brilliant smile to the assembled.

It would be best to put on a display now – better for the people – and perhaps, along the way, she might learn just _who_ Lady Vader was, and how she might play her part in the Empire…

**A.N. – So… any thoughts? Episode One coming up soon! : )**


	5. Roses and Air

**A.N. – We have launched into the "series" part of the story – a set of "episodes" taking place in the world introduced to us in the previous four chapters. Vader continues to lavish affection upon his wife, all the while leading a double existence…**

**Oh, an I have decided that in the SW universe, it is possible to engineer perfectly simulated outdoor environments, to create an indoor "garden" of a kind… **

**Enjoy!**

Padmé started as a hand stroked the crown of her head, exhaling in relief at the recognition of her husband's scent – like a warm animal…

"Do you have a moment?"

She sighed, and laid the data pad on a nearby chair, turning slowly.

"I've found lately that I have too many – "

The expression on his face surprised her – for the past month he had almost resembled a marble carving – cold, distant, hard, and untouchable, even in private.

So what in the name of the all-powerful Force had rekindled that eager, childish light in his lovely blue eyes, that made his lips curve into a cocky grin?

"Come on."

Leather sheathed fingers entwined with her own, and she found herself being drawn down the gleaming corridors of the palace.

"We intercepted further transmissions this morning from the Chommell sector; they still refuse to identify. I've ordered legion 498 to complete a sweep of the system."

Padmé's heart sank.

"I… see. Will you be joining them?"

"It would be wise."

She nodded, her throat growing uncomfortably tight.

"And… civilian transport to and from the planets would be blocked?"

"Temporarily. Until we have confirmation that all threats are eliminated."

She swallowed hard.

"How long?"

"Five months, perhaps."

She sighed, her head drooping.

"Ani, I- I wanted – "

Suddenly bright light flooded her eyes, and her voice died in her throat, replaced by incredulity.

They were standing in the center of the north wing of the palace complex, she was certain, beneath eight floors of solid metal – and yet golden sunlight warmed her face, and the floor was soft and spongy with grass…

It was sprawling and beautiful – a work of love. Nubian roses bloomed on clustered bushes like pink gems, a caressing breeze rustled through the branches of the trees, and in the distance an immense waterfall splashed into the waiting lake.

It was almost as if the grounds at Varykino had been transported off-world, and set down to root here in the middle of so much hard lifelessness.

"Anakin…" she murmured breathlessly, her fingertips brushing a blossom – a shower of delicate petals washed over her palm.

His smile widened as his hands slipped around her torso, coming to rest against her engorged abdomen.

"I thought you might be homesick for a time…" he murmured against her ear, the words followed by a soft nuzzle.

Padmé leaned into the embrace, biting her lip in sheer awe as she tried to drink every aspect of their surroundings. A smile broke across her face, and with a teasing shove of her elbow she flew into a run across the grass, gathering up handfuls of her heavy black skirt to move the faster when laughter and the thump of strong boots alerted her to his pursuit.

* * *

The Corellian pilot spat out another mouthful of blood, a purple bruise rising beneath her pale blue skin. Pale fingers tightened around her chin, forcing her face upward.

"Now understand," the lieutenant snarled.

"This – this is _mercy_, compared to what you could be made to suffer. Now answer –"

His grip tightened, until the twìlek's flesh went white with blood loss.

"Where did you transport that hive of rebel scum?"

Her sapphire blue eyes met his own, with a flash.

He grunted, and shoved her back against the durasteel wall, wiping his hand on his jacket as though he had been contaminated. The blood left dark stripes on the fabric.

"You're a fool."

* * *

The waterfall laughed nearby, the light catching on the showers of spray and making them gleam with a prismatic light.

Padmé lay on her back in the grass, a contented purr escaping her lips as her husband palmed her belly beneath the black septsilk.

"I thought we might build something for the baby…" he was murmuring gently, nodding his head towards a grove of pale green trees. "Just a…small pavilion for the crib, over there?"

She smiled, and stroked his cheek – suddenly her features went blank with shock, and a grin washed over her face.

"Did you feel it?!"

He stared at her, confused.

Excitement coursing in her veins, Padmé seized his wrist and moved it lower on her torso.

"There-!"

He gasped and pure, delighted astonishment lit up his features, as they both felt the jab of a tiny limb.

"She's restless." He crooned, laying his face against her belly.

"She?" Her lips quirked, amused.

"Of course it's a 'she'." He shot back, smirking. "You wouldn't settle for anything less."

Despite the jibe, his wife couldn't help but notice the softness in his eyes. She considered the image- Anakin with their little princess cradled in his arms – and her heart melted.

"I would have thought you'd like a son better – a little you?" She teased gently, a pearly-skinned hand reaching up to thread in his wavy bronze hair.

He laughed quietly and lay down beside her, still stroking her abdomen and the growing life beneath.

"Why, when I could have two beautiful women to tease and spoil?"

"Ani -!" She giggled softly, before his lips found her mouth.

Her eyelids fluttered, bliss overtaking her mind –

"Your Highness?"

He broke away quickly, both of them staring up at a rather embarrassed-looking aide.

"My lord – Lieutenant Tagge humbly requests your presence; he's been inter-"

"Good." Anakin cut him off sharply.

The man seemed to pale, and Padmé would have sworn that the protocol droid beside him was trembling…

"Tell him I'll be there in a moment."

As the aide rushed away, clearly glad to escape, Anakin knelt back to his wife and laid a quick kiss on her forehead.

"I won't be long."

He made as if to rise, yet suddenly dropped back down and brushed his lips over the swell of her torso.

"Look after your mother, young one." He whispered, before finally getting to his feet and heading for the near-invisible door.

Padmé rolled onto her side, a smile still gracing her lips as she allowed the water-spray to bead on her face and hair like tiny crystals… If there were any feelings of uneasiness – concerning her husband, or the apparent terror he inspired in his subordinates – they were pushed away.

She didn't want to think of it.

* * *

"_I – know n-nothing!_" The blue-skinned twÌlek screamed for the third time.

"I- I was only supposed to transport them to Ohma- 'Dun and back, I d-didn't know why-! "

Her tear-filled eyes gazed imploringly at the rather handsome face that loomed above her, only to be met by a stare that nearly broke her weak mind.

_Great force, the stories ARE true… His eyes are yellow…_

His jaw tightened simultaneously with his fist.

"_I SWEA –_" Her voice died with a gurgle and a grisly crunching noise.

The lieutenants looked on nervously as the creature seemingly suffocated on empty air, until her limbs stopped twitching and she lay still.

Tagge's eyes narrowed.

"But- but my lord, she gave us no intelligence –"

The emperor nodded silently.

"She told the truth. She had no knowledge to give."

He gazed at the corpse for another moment, before turning and quitting the cell, both men staring after him…

**A.N.- You wouldn't believe it, but Evil Anakin is really difficult to write convincingly… I hope I'm doing well. **

**As usual, feedback is love! **


	6. Cold

**A.N. – Another thank you to all my reviewers! I'm delighted that you're all enjoying this!**

**Now, just so someone doesn't call me on the carpet for unoriginality, I deliberately wrote one part of this chapter to resemble a scene in **_**A New Hope**_**.**

**For me, the bit when Vader is strangling Leia's Captain is the only time I truly see his anger from ROTS coming into play – that's when I can believe it's Anakin inside the suit.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

Over the years, he had found that space remained cold. It never truly bothered him – he hadn't noticed it in the thick of battle, blaster and cannon fire raining past his fighter like a lethal hailstorm.

On the command deck of a Star Destroyer, it was another story.

The officers gave no indication that they took any notice of the way his arms curled around his torso, holding in what little warmth his blood could provide. They would have been fools to mention it anyway – that was well understood.

Outside, the Corellians were still trying to run – their blue engine beams glowing white-hot with the added strain of attempting to break free of a tractor beam.

Fools.

"Shall I give the order to fire, my lord?"

"No. Raise the traction power to maximum, and arm the boarding party. I'll lead them myself."

The commander swallowed nervously and gave a stiff bow, as Vader stormed down the deck and into the corridor, his black cloak curling about his body like smoke.

Dozens of eyes followed him, some carrying nothing but raw fear, others anger, and still others pure hatred…

* * *

The Coruscant Interplanetary Child-Refugee Center had been hardly deserving of the name when Padmé located it in the public service district – only a handful of outdated E-model droids were available to look after the rapidly growing number of little ones pouring in from far-flung worlds, their parents slaughtered in the war.

Anakin had given her full control of the project, still pre-occupied with increasing reports of anti-imperial activity in the Chommell sector and elsewhere, and Padmé had flung herself into the work, outraged by the new government's apparent lack of compassion. The holo-reporters on the imperial network had scoffed at her "obsession", and called it a "human nesting instinct."

No one wanted to speculate when the same reporters were found dead only days later. Padmé was still horrified by the incident, though she had convinced herself it had been only a grim coincidence….

It had taken thousands of credits, and even more patience, though she had insisted that the labor be completed as quickly as possible – with more child refugees spilling onto the planet every day, needing care and nurturing.

It had taken three long months, but the final reward was worth the wait.

Now three hundred stories tall, with five wings devoted to respectively to education, sleep, pediatric wards, meals, and entertainment, Padmé could set her mind at ease with the thought that the empire had brought _some _good to the galaxy…

Her first visit to the renovated Center had been chilling to say the least – it was uncomfortable enough that her husband had insisted on half a clone battalion accompanying her transporter, but the fear she saw in the eyes of the chaperones and droids was near to heart-breaking. Did high office truly make one so intimidating?

If there was another possible reason for their terror, Empress Vader did not wish to consider it.

Fortunately, the children had been too young to share the adults' fear of their patroness, and Padmé quickly became an adored presence in their lives.

It was the very least she could do.

Now, with Anakin halfway across the galaxy, she found the company of the infants to be a soothing distraction. It was pleasant to escape for a time from the confines of the palace, and the crush of ambassadors begging audiences and privileges and could she _please_ ask His Highness to address the new taxation policies…

The Nubian garden provided peace and quiet, but for the wistful feelings it instilled in her mind… the longing for home and her beloved…

Suddenly a little cough brought her back to the present.

The baby Deslik coughed again, his small beige-colored body tails curling around her arm as she cradled him to her chest. A sheen of pale sweat had coated his delicate skin membrane, his body's final desperate attempt to regulate the heat surrounding him.

Padmé could feel the tears pricking her eyes as she held him close, the life monitor nearby beeping frantically. Desliks were accustomed to an arctic environment, at temperatures so low even life-support computers couldn't fully replicate them. The infant was, in actual fact, dying of heat frustration in a room that resembled a carbon- freezing vat.

A tear finally slipped down her face…

* * *

Blaster fire continued for eight minutes, until all the screaming and moans had stopped.

Blue eyes wandered over the piles of corpses lining the corridor, and the slight sting of remorse was beaten back, howling.

One of the troopers lifted a gauntleted hand and waved him over, a barely-alive corellian moaning at his feet.

Vader locked the man's watery gaze with his own, sheer agony and terror spilling from his weak mind.

Weak was good. Weak was useable. Breakable.

The smuggler emitted an embarrassingly high-pitched screech at the first hum of the now infamous blue light-saber, the heat prickling his skin.

"Don't scream – not yet." Vader muttered, the blade leaving black scorch marks where it hovered over fabric…

* * *

"My lady?!"

For a moment, Padmé ignored the protocol droid's frantic tapping on the envoi-chamber door, stroking a pale brow as the final shades of warmth slipped from the little Deslik's icy skin…

"My lady, please!"

Biting back her disappointment, she glanced up to the door, the rims of her eyes swollen and pink.

"What is it, Threepio?"

The droid clattered into the room, his voice modulator panicky.

"Commander Thane is on the communicator – he's requesting instructions!"

Padmé felt the blood drain from her face.

"W-why?" She finally managed to gasp.

"He _says_ that they've encountered heavy weapon readings on the rebel freighter – and all communication to the boarding party has been temporarily lost due to frequency inequa-!"

"Ani…" She breathed before rushing past the hysterical droid and into the corridor, terror freezing her veins like the tiny body left inside the cradle…

* * *

The captain struggled for a desperately needed breath under the unrelenting grip of a leather-sheathed hand, his boots kicking at the metal deck as he was crushed against a cargo container.

"Who employed you for the mission?! _Who are your superiors?!_"

"I'm – we're a spi - spice carrying vessel – We were employed to – to ship merchandise from Kessel –"

Vader snarled, his palm tightening against the man's air passage.

"Spice smugglers don't transmit calls for defiance through hyperspace relay. So who does?!"

The captain's eyes rolled back into his head seconds before he was thrown to the floor.

"Commander!" Vader roared, his eyes glowing eerily.

"Rip every man on this ship apart until you have an answer, and bring me names and coordinates!"

"Yes sir!" The clone replied instantly, before dashing through the blast doors with his squadron.

"_That…will earn you… nothing…" _The former captain rasped through his crushed windpipe, an unsettling smile beginning to break across his bloodied face as his hand reached inside his jacket…

"_For.. the re...pub…lic…"_

The force surged in a warning, and Vader felt the heat explode across his body.

Then it was all black.

And silent.

And cold.

_TBC_

**A.N. – Please put down the torches and pitchforks. This IS a two, maybe three-part episode, and I promise I'll update soon!**

**Thoughts? : )**


	7. Pain

**A.N. – Initial warning- this chapter gets a bit grim in places. Nothing terribly intense, but sensitive readers might find it a little disturbing…**

The scanner began blaring.

"Life readings, bearing two-five-three-two-nine-seven – Units six and eight open the top hatch, keep the ship level!"

Two soldiers saluted and dashed from the control room, their armored boots clanking against the durasteel decking.

Padmé hobbled down the corridor after them, cursing her body for the added weight that made running impossible.

_He isn't dead… I would know… I would feel it…_

One of the troopers was still punching the over-ride code into the hatch lock when she finally caught up to them, gasping, her eyes frantic.

"The control system's malfunctioning – we would have had it repaired by 0-900 tonight if- "

With a scream of frustration, Padmé snatched a blast-rifle from the nearest clone and fired six rounds against the hatch seam. Sparks rained down, scorching her skin and the tan-leather blouse that swathed her body, as the trap doors slid open with a ring of metal on metal…

One of the soldiers seized her around the waist and dragged her to the floor as the vacuum tore through the retrieval chamber, his body mass pining her to the deck as they both clung to a bulkhead – the second had ejected himself from the ship on a length of flex-cable, clutching a magnetic grappler…

A tear slid from between her clenched eyelids, as the oxygen rushed past her body –

_Force, let him live – I can't lose him…_

He'd be safe. He had to be. He'd lift her in his arms and destroy her mind with a paralyzing kiss, working his way down her throat and over the edge of her jaw, nipping and nuzzling as he always did when he wanted to make love…

There was hiss of air-stabilizers as the hatch slammed shut…

"Unit Eight to Primary Control – recovery complete. Request immediate medical assistance – code rancor, two seven seven three two niner-niner eight one ten- "

"_Anakin-!_"

He felt like a broken doll as she pulled him into her arms and cradled him on the deck, her sobs shaking them both.

"Ani, look at me! _Look at me!_" she screamed, staring into sightless blue eyes – like shards of ice…

"No! – Stop! Stop, come back!"

"Milady-"

"_COME BACK!"_

"Milady, please-"

Strong hands seized her body and dragged her away, while she screamed and wailed, pleading with a man who couldn't hear…

* * *

No one - not even the most advanced of the med-droids – could explain how he had survived.

Padmé didn't care.

The GH-7 was still droning in his soft monotone…

"…can be treated with decompression. Much of the external skin has been damaged due to heat and vacuum exposure, but can be easily remedied with bacta treatments. Most of his organs are salvageable, but we've begun searching the databases for compatible lung and kidney donors…" His modulator drifted into silence.

Padmé felt her head spinning, but forced herself to nod.

"What else?"

The droid folded his metal fingers together in a maddeningly calm gesture.

"His left leg appears to have been crushed – likely by floating debris- and while it's still possible to implant reinforcement, all medical sources recommend amputation. The process is quicker, considerably less painful, and requires less post-surgery supervision. Afterwards, prosthesis could be custom fit, but would likely result in a loss of natural agility."

She swallowed with difficulty, her jaw shaking…

_There's no one else to give orders… do I torture him?… or do I take away even more of his humanity?…_

Her eyes glimmered with tears of self-hatred as she met the droid's artificially caring gaze.

"Is he conscious yet?"

* * *

The medical bay was sterile and blindingly bright. Padmé could smell the disinfectant being pumped through the air like extermination gas, purifying the air even while it was in her lungs…

Tears leapt to her dark eyes the moment she saw him - energy restraints kept him bound to the repulsor table, the cerulean beams glowing off his reddened skin. They'd stripped him completely, leaving patches of blistered flesh and green bruising exposed to the chemical-permeated air. Padmé instantly felt a wave of protectiveness wash across her mind, her slender fingers curling through locks of singed hair, caressing his brow as though he were an injured child…

Anakin would have fumed at the analogy…

"P'dmé…"

She gasped and dropped to her knees beside the surgical table, ghosting a soft kiss over his chapped lips.

"I'm here, Ani… I'm here…"

"Don't go…"

"I won't."

His eyes cracked open, darting about the room for a fraction of a second – his muscles tensing as he realized he'd been bound – before his gaze slowly traveled downward…

She had tried to avoid so much as _looking_ at the leg- it was a truly nauseating sight. Muscle was visible through the torn flesh, exposed veins still busily pumping midichlorian-rich blood up to his heart…Padmé wondered how he could bear the excruciation, yet found her answer when an FX-6 plunged a hypo-needle into his upper-thigh, assumedly injecting local pain-killer…

Anakin flinched back from the stab, anxiety clear on his face.

"P'dmé -!"

"Shhh…" She murmured, kissing his fingers. "You're safe now, they're going to –"

"Don't- let th'm –!" He was frantic now, his eyes darting back and forth from her face to his shattered leg, as the med-droids encompassed the table … "Please -!"

The GH-7 hovered at her shoulder, his arms and equipment tray gleaming with spray-on disinfectant.

"The surgical team is prepared, Milady…"

Padmé bit her lip, daring another glance.

The limb was a wreck, like a speeder crushed between two asteroids – irreparable…

Her eyes met his, saw the fear and the desperation- the begging…

"Don't…" He pled, a single tear streaming down his face. "P'dmé… please…"

Her jaw trembled as she stroked his cheek gently, their gazes locked…

"Take the leg off."

The restraints tightened around him instantly, repressing his violent struggles to little more than a weak floundering. A 21-B and the FX-6 closed in on his head, one stilling his desperate attempts at evasion with a sudden snatch and wrench that pulled a startled gasp from his lips, and the other forcing a tubed, tentacle-like device down his throat…

Padmé had seen animals being force-fed back on Naboo farms – she had wept, for their pain, for their fear, for their lack of control.

She wept now.

The flex-steel tubes were visible beneath the skin as they twisted into his lungs, the exterior respirator stretching his lips like a forceps gag.

The droids held him secure until the first _suck-hisss_ of breath proved the device was stable, then tightened the bonds a second time. The FX model whirred back to the base of the table, where most of the med-team was gathered, while the 21-B remained stationary to monitor the breathing pattern.

Choking back her remorse, Padmé could do nothing but run her fingers through his hair, murmuring soothingly as she often did for so many little ones… What pained her most was not the knowledge of what was to come, but rather how his eyes screamed in panic, tears born of pure terror sliding down his skin – and yet that machine inside him forced his chest to rise and fall as calmly as though he were lost in sleep…

He could bear it, she tried to reassure herself – he had lost one limb before, in the rage of battle… the lightsaber blow instantaneous, the heat cauterizing the wound immediately, preventing blood and killing all nerve endings, preventing pain…

Now, he was undistracted, frightened, and very conscious of what was about to be done to him – slowly, agonizingly, and precisely…

A sonic-rotary saw emitted a hissing whine as a DD-13 model ran it's amputation equipment through the final test stages…

* * *

It took an eternity.

Padmé forced herself to watch the process, Anakin's howls of anguish ringing in her ears… She had brought this suffering upon him; it would be her penance to see it through to the end.

The blade cut smoothly through skin and muscle, pausing every few second to allow the laser cauterizers to close blood vessels. Upon reaching the bone, it was necessary to make the transfer to a durasteel rotary knife; For the eighth time, Padmé begged for analgesic drugs- anything to relieve his obvious distress. The 21-B gave the same reply - the risk of cardio-shock was too great.

The saw buzzed as it touched living tissue, sending pale dust into the air…

Anakin finally went silent - eyes wide, limbs shaking, skin drenched in sweat – but silent. His wife clutched his flesh hand as the blades and lasers slipped lower and lower through his flesh, until the edges grated on durasteel.

It took four hours.

* * *

Across the galaxy, the holo-channels were interrupted with a single phrase, translated into every known sentient language…

_The Emperor Lives…_

Screams and keening of misery could be heard from world to world, death threats and scrap hurled indiscriminately at the holovid, as the source of their rage wept piteously in his wife's arms, jolts of agony racing through a limb that no longer existed for him…

**A.N. – Thoughts?**


	8. Tears

**A.N. – "Unforgivably late" is such an ugly phrase – and, sadly, is the only one appropriate to use as a label for this chapter. I offer a sincere apology to all my neglected readers for the reprehensible delay on my part, but real life finally caught up with me. I'll try to improve the pace at which this story is updated, but be forewarned, it might be a little while before the next installment is up. But now, please enjoy the latest chapter!**

"According to the security files, his Majesty left for the Repair Bay nearly an hour ago."

Padmé sighed and flung the glossy covers aside, the protocol droid offering her a gold-plated arm as she struggled to lift her increasing bulk...

What in the name of all the Systems was he _doing_? He needed to rest and re-build his stamina, not swing through jungles of cable and wiring like a maddened wookie...

The gold-tiled surface beneath her bare feet gradually gave way to polished durasteel, and eventually bare, grey stone. Power cables wound across the floor like the web of a Kessel energy spider, yellow, red and green winding into long ropes... Padmé only had to follow the acrid scent of burning metal as it stung her nostrils, leading her past a corner and into the main hanger–

Force. What in the name of –

* * *

Welding dust clung to his face and hair as he wriggled out from under the layers and layers of durasteel and wiring – He knew his wife's voice too well, and the familiar excitement bubbled up from some hidden spring in his chest...

"Ani, what are you _doing_?!" She half-screamed, turning more than a few workmens' heads. He only grinned and hobbled over, lifting her chin and kissing her wildly –

"You look beautiful." He murmured, running greasy fingers through her curls and admiring the soft glow that seemed to exude from her skin – she was always lovely, but now that she was carrying, she was radiant...

"Come on –"

Ignoring the furious sheen covering her brown eyes, he clasped her hand, entwining their fingers, and pulled her around the side of the vessel and up the loading bridge.

"One of the spice carriers from Corellia wasn't too badly damaged – I'm having the hyper-drive upgraded by thirty, the engines are being remodeled..."

He went on for ages, once again just a ten year old boy showing off his homemade protocol droid.

"... Two blaster cockpits at the port and starboard, he can chose whichever he wants, he could try and best me – I'd let him win, obviously, but it'd be fun – and there'll be holo tables in the galley, so he can watch vids –"

"Ani, you ought to be –"

"- And I built the cabin with a transferable bunk, so we could start with a crib and move up to – ought to be what?"

He'd never actually seen a look of exasperation on Padmé's flawless face – perhaps it was a result of the pregnancy...

"You're still recovering, and the medics said that –"

"If it was going to reopen, I think it would have by now." He cut across, deliberately avoiding a glance down at the prosthetic limb fused to his hip.

"Besides, if either of us should be resting, it's you – the baby could come any week now..."

She groaned – he couldn't help but find it endearing and infuriating all at once.

"Women have children every day all over the galaxy – it's nothing new! And I'm perfectly capable of functioning like any other being! YOU, on the other hand, are far from dispensable! Honestly, does it ever occur to you that hundreds of systems all look to your every decision every second of every-"

Tears were starting to streak down her face, and he fought back a sigh. The Emdee droid had warned them about the mood swings and manic behavior, but...

"Come here, Angel." He murmured gently, pulling her down into his lap on one of the pilot seats.

After several minutes of murmuring endearments, stroking dark ringlets, and nuzzling her pale throat, she seemed to recover, and immediately lapsed into the usual tirade of apologies. He only smiled, and shushed her with a kiss.

"Come on-"

"What are you- ?!"

"Just trust me..."

* * *

He had thought of everything – right down to the heating units under the mattress.

Padmé leaned back in his arms, allowing the perspiration to dry off her skin as his warm breath fluttered across the back of her neck...

It was strange – even the way they made love had changed. Once upon a time, when they were newly married, it had been hurried, frantic, passionate – a faint smile graced her lips as the memories came rushing back, the long nights at Varykino, on the lake. He'd been hardly more than a boy, and –she highly-suspected – she'd been the first woman he'd ever touched. Sweat had rolled off his skin in torrents, as he drove his young body to the breaking point, her name – "_Padmé!"_ – bursting off his tongue in loud moans. The years had gone by, and when the war came, those meetings grew more and more scarce, sometimes little more than swift couplings in her apartment on Coruscant. Yet even that had begun to change. War altered them both – her defeated pacifist ideals leaving her with a constant source of frustration, and his place at the forefront of battle forcing him into manhood. One of those torturously rare evenings, she had lain in his strong arms as he scattered kisses down her out-stretched throat – tenderly, adoringly- and she'd understood; no longer the boyish young husband, but a soldier who had seen more blood and brutality than should ever be inflicted on a living being, and in need of a gentle eye and a soft breast to come home to...

And now? The empress thought to herself, the sept-silk bedclothes caressing her skin while her husband nuzzled her throat drowsily... He loved her... like a husband. It sounded strange, but there was no way else to justify it. He was gentle, affectionate, tender, his durasteel hand shielding her belly – but the passion had cooled. He was her husband. Not her lover.

A soft sigh left her lungs, as she tossed the bed sheets aside and padded across the cabin, the polished durasteel floor cold beneath her bare feet. Her fingers dragged through her mussed curls as she looked about lazily for a mirror – she could leave the ship and enter the hanger in this state – no need to advertise to the entire work crew that she and his Majesty had enjoyed a frolic on board – though given the amount of time they had spent, it was probably widely assumed anyway...

There was a quiet chime from her discarded chemise on the floor, and with considerable difficulty Padmé managed to lower herself far enough to pull the portable holo-projector from the fold of fabric. The blue image flickered into existence as she pulled the soft silk around her chest for modesty...

It was a woman, an auburn-haired woman dressed in ivory shimmer-silk – a ghost from the past –

"Mon -!"

"_Hush –it's Osira now. Osira Mapi."_

"Where are you?!" She hissed urgently. "I can order a shuttle to -"

"_Do you think me a fool, Empress?_" The Chandrillian senator's tone was not angry or exasperated – merely mournful. "_I am safe, as are some others. That is all you need to know._"

Padmé bit back her initial anger.

"What do you need?"

"_You, Padmé. For the sake of friendship, and for the survival of democracy within this galaxy, we need you to act._"

Padmé's brown eyes went dark.

"Democracy is dead. We both witnessed that."

"_Not yet_." Mothma murmured. "_Belief still lingers in the ashes, but it will thrive only if we act quickly. And you must –_"

"Why me?" she cut across suddenly, a grim emotion she could not name settling over her mind. Mothma's lovely face grew tight.

"_The Petition of Two-Thousand has become the list of the condemned. Only your name remains safe, Padmé. Do not make me state the reason aloud – we both know, in any case._"

Padmé nodded, the feelings of uneasiness growing.

"What –"

"_And, I might add_," the Chandrillian interrupted gently, "_no other member of the galactic senate possessed such a skill with a blaster_."

Understanding swamped her, and she dropped the projector in horror.

"NO-!"

"_He has destroyed all you fought for, and all who attempt to rebuild it. You know it to be true. Padmé, do you even know what takes place on other planets? What your homeworld has become? Do you know what they're now calling the 501__st__? 'Vader's Fist.' Do you know __**anything**__ of what he's become?!_ –"

"No." Padmé whispered, the tears coursing unchecked down her cheeks. "And I don't want to. And I won't destroy my child's father. Goodbye Mon."

Her thumb flicked off the hologram, leaving the cabin silent but for her soft sobs. It wasn't true. The lies they spread on the Holonet, the mud they slung, it was sick propaganda, it must be, he _wouldn't_ have –

The baby stirred beneath her ribs, as if sensing it's mother's distress, and began to clutch at her gently...

"Padmé?"

And for the first time, Padmé knew fear at the sound of that voice – the low lilt she had dreamed of for nearly five years, that she had heard whispering in adoration, screaming in panic, growling in anger, soaring in laughter, shouting in passion – and she felt a sudden surge of panic. How much had he heard?! But then he had knelt behind her, and wrapped her in his arms. The fresh tears rushed down her skin. He was still warm, still young, still strong, still beautiful. And despite whatever the galaxy might tell her he had become –she still loved him with every fiber of her heart.

"It's... just the baby..."

He smiled, and kissed her tears away. She moaned softly at the touch of his lips, wreathed her arms around his neck, and let their lips meet, pouring into the kiss every drop of her soul that still carried belief of his goodness. She continued to weep, and allowed him to carry her back to the bed...

**A.N. – Reviews are my bread and butter – also, virtual cookies and a hug to anyone who caught on to what he's building. ;)**


	9. Life

**A.N. –Firstly, I apologize for the shortness of this chapter. :( However, I wish to point out that I have severely limited knowledge about the subject-material herein, and didn't wish to over-exaggerate any details. **

**That being said, enjoy, and remember to review! **

There had been no time.

At one second all had been well – she had been smiling, warm, polite, as she was at all official gatherings. Then her smile had melted, and suddenly her embroidered gown was soaked in water.

In the ensuing panic, the emperor had ignored the repulsor-capsule and rushed his wife to the medical hall in his arms. The droids had begun to strip her garments away – only to be sent smashing into a nearby durasteel wall, gears clattering and coolant staining the metal.

"I want an _organic_ midwife!" Vader had roared to his terrified aides as they huddled near the door. "Those _machines_ are not going to kriffing touch her!"

The empress had moaned, but he ignored her, his chest heaving and a nervous sweat glistening on his neck and brow...

* * *

"And one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten..._" _the Mon Calamari counted off the seconds.

Padmé flushed a bright pink, tears seeping down her face as her muscles tensed with the effort...

"... And rest."

* * *

Kriffing sanitation laws! – They'd be dealt with soon enough, he certainly would not be pacing outside for ten hours during the birth of his _second_ child...

Behind him, he could sense the sweat and fear rising from Tagge and Ozzels' pathetic minds. Fools. As if they had anything to concern themselves with, it wasn't as though the fate of _their_ lovers hung in the emptiness...

Another feminine cry of pain broke the silence, and Anakin once again fought an overwhelming desire to crush in the doors.

_She WON'T die... _ Anakin hissed into his own mind. _I have done all he commanded, and more – I WON'T lose her..._

A tear pricked the corner of his eye, and he thumbed it away, staring at the moisture on his skin in something like shock. He'd almost forgotten he could... do that...

"My lord..."

The Calamarian healer stepped from behind the doors to the surgical theater, his gleaming white coverall splattered in red-brown...

Anakin felt his back tense, eyelids snapping shut as he readied himself for the death knell –

"You have a son –"

Breath fluttered from his lungs.

_A boy._

"-and a daughter."

* * *

Padmé distantly recognized the sensation of water against her skin – cool, soft – and moaned gently.

"It is done, milady – just rest..."

How was she supposed to rest now? They were close – she could hear them crying –

"Le-let me..." she whispered faintly, "I want to feed them..."

"Shhhh... you must not exert yourself, milady," came that maddeningly soothing, disembodied voice. "We have the nursing droid for all that – now relax. Try to sleep."

"No..." she began to protest, before something sharp pricked the flesh of her neck. The warming cushion beneath her began to grow softer and softer, she seemed to sink down, and the world vanished into a comfortable haze...

* * *

Her dark curls felt soft and clean against his fingers, as her breath evened out and her lovely face fell slack against the pillows.

"I'm sorry, my love..." he murmured into her hair as the droid continued to bathe her gently. "It's not for long."

With a final, tender kiss to her pliant lips, he rose quickly and headed for the antechamber.

It was safer this way, to keep her relaxed and sedentary until all risk had been eliminated – she had not just given birth to two children, only to lose her life from physical stress... At least that was what he had assured himself, during all those long hours waiting beyond the doors.

The nursing droid gleamed beneath the warming-lamps, her humanoid face fixed in a permanent expression of maternal comfort, as her paddle-shaped arms cradled a half-unconscious infant to the nutrient reservoirs beneath her chin. Judging from the pale green blanket, it was the boy. His father shuddered a little, imaging a similar scenario with the child's organic mother... how beautiful...

A cooing sound behind his back drew his attention to the child swaddled in light yellow, and a sudden wriggle beneath the blanket sent a jolt through the Force, brushing up against his thigh. A slight smile broke across his face for the first time in hours. Definitely his little girl... He stoked her cheek with a fingertip – Force, their skin was impossibly soft! – and suppressed a shudder of laughter when her tiny fingers curled around his knuckle, her dark eyes huge and wondering as she stared into his face.

Was this fatherhood? It was hard to tell. All through his time as a child in slavery, there had been a distinct lack of a guiding, masculine presence that not even his mother – though she'd been warm, wonderful, and loving – had never quite been able to fill. And yet, Qui-Gon... Anakin felt his breath hitch slightly. Qui-Gon had loved him, he was certain of it. And there had been such a sense of deep joy whenever he could make him proud - like when he'd won the Boonta Eve Classic, as a nine-year old boy, and the jedi master had lifted him on his shoulder, grinning broadly... He'd felt such a... comfort, simply from the sensation of a firm but gentle grip on his shoulder, or a hand ruffling his hair affectionately...

Anakin swallowed back the lump in his throat.

Yes, Qui-Gon had been... wonderful... But only to be snatched away, far too soon... He remembered struggling to contain tears at the funeral, Obi-Wan ramrod straight at his side...

No. To think of Obi-Wan now was to embrace madness...

His daughter seemed to sense her father's distress, and cooed again, asking for another touch. Anakin smiled through the pain of nostalgia, and ran his thumb gently across her smooth brow, his breath quickening as his son was laid in the transparisteel crib beside his sister. The boy was asleep, and within minutes the girl was as well, soothed by touch and affection...

Anakin stood uncertainly by the crib for several long minutes, simply watching his children as they breathed unconsciously. Perhaps it was the right thing to do.

He had no idea.


	10. Scream

**A.N. – I offer a distinct apology to all my neglected readers! Exams and some (unfortunately necessary) medical work have been occupying my time, and I honestly can't say when the next post will be. :/ However, I offer this latest installment as a consolation!**

**Enjoy!**

A soft moan of rare delight escaped Padmé's dry lips, as the water-supplements spilled out of the heating drum and into the bath, the insulation bubble confining the warmth...

It was... sad, really. After the relocation, this simple luxury was the only thing she found true enjoyment in. Well, this and the children, of course.

All things considered, she mused silently, ducking her head back and allowing the hot liquid to soak through her curls, the twins had adapted to the relocation quite well... The only concern was keeping them confined to the living quarters, and out of the battle stations...

* * *

"_WHAT-?!"_

"_Only for the next several years, until the surrounding systems are secure –"_

"_Then why couldn't you move the capital to one of the outlying worlds, or –or –Ani, I couldn't live in a place like–!"_

"_The uprisings are increasing, and I _will not _leave you here with the twins while the capital is at risk! Is that clear?!"_

_The look in his eyes frightened her for a moment – it was fiery, almost demonic... _

_She had only nodded, suddenly very much aware of how... small she was, compared to her husband..._

* * *

The transition had been harsh – at least from her perspective. The palace had a human feel, a sense of warmth, that the battle station and the flagship conspicuiously lacked. Everything was harsh and metallic, and carried a too-bright, lifeless sheen that she couldn't help but find stifling.

The water jets switched off, and thick foam gushed from the sides of the bath, enveloping her skin and infusing the air with the scent of nubian roses...

"Mmmmm..."

"M-ma?" a voice chirped from the open door, muffled slightly by a thumb locked between soft lips.

Liquid spilled from her hair - now a solid, shining slab of deep black-brown all down her back – as she sat up and flashed a smile to the tiny figure in the doorway, stretching out her dripping fingers.

"Hello sweetheart – come here, come to mommy..."

Luke toddled over on baby legs, still unsteady, but capable, and caught her hand.

There was a long silence as he simply clung to her, sucking steadily at his thumb.

She smiled, and ruffled his sandy hair, simply enjoying the innocent affection – with Anakin's continued absence, it made the simple moments with the children all the more valuable...

Struck by an idea, Padmé sloshed out of the tub, liquid streaming down her body, and helped her son wriggle free of the pale grey tunic, slacks, and the japor pendant his father had carved for him, before she lifted him into the bath with her.

The tiny bones of his spine jutted out beneath her hand as he cuddled into her lap, the bath foam lapping at both of them gently. At a sudden urge, she ducked her head into the little stretch of flesh between neck and shoulder, inhaling the baby scent that remained – breathing him in.

He squealed, ticklish, and wriggled in her arms – she relented, and laid a firm kiss to the back of his neck, where soft skin met golden hair, alarmingly like his father's...

The comm beeped.

"_Milady?! MILADY?!"_

Startled, Padmé lifted Luke against her chest and waded through the bath, stabbing her finger against the com button –

"Dormé? What's –"

"_Outside the viewports – Oh Force, oh Force -!"_

Wait – why – Dormé was a slab of durasteel, her greatest panic had been a breathless query about her well-being, after her brush with death...

A soft glow illuminated the duraglas windows, different from the blue security holos that played over the cold cabins as they slept – it carried warmth, life, vitality...

And as her dark eyes reached through the viewport, her heart paused...

Her homeworld appeared as it always had; a lovely, blue-green gem in the midst of frozen space. The three moons hung suspended like pearls about the orb, turning slowly with the seasons...

It should have filled her with joy, with delight. She could bring her children home, they could meet their grandparents, their aunt, their cousins... they could play in the palace courtyards, paddle in the lakes, greedily devour holiday cookies with healthy, childish impatience...

Then why was she overwhelmed by such a sense of inexplicable dread?...

A sudden vibration rocked the floor. Fluid splashed over the edge of the bath.

A bolt of green cut through the black sky, illuminating the universe for a fraction of a second as it struck the planet in the heart – and the world exploded.

Padmé stared, her jaw slack.

All her life, her home, her childhood, her history – gone in less than a moment. Her family, the few childhood friends... Gone. All gone.

Dormé sobbed hysterically over the comm.

"No..." Padmé whispered to herself, softer and softer... "No... no... no... no..."

Trembling, the empress clutched her son to her chest, his delicate heart beat thrumming steadily against her own frantically drumming pulse. Little arms twined about her neck.

"M-ma..." he mewed quietly, unknowing, uncaring, as his mother shed stunned tears...

* * *

"ANAKIN!"

Every officer, petty officer, and pilot turned his head as the empress rushed down the catwalk–clad in only a simple shift, her hair still wet...

Strong arms caught her before she could reach the black-cloaked figure on the observation deck.

"ANAKIN! H-HOW COULD- WHY?! _WHY?!_"

He didn't seem to hear.

Her face went slack as the blood in her veins froze solid, Mothma's words rushing back to her mind...

"_Do you know __**anything**__ of what he's become?! –"_

No... _no..._

"This is madness..." she whispered, barely loud enough for the trooper restraining her to hear. "Madness..."

She broke loose with a sharp struggle, heart-broken tears bathing her face as she fled through the endless maze of corridors, images and voices screaming, flashing through her mind...

"_I'm a person-!"_

"_Then they should be made to..."_

"_Everything will soon be set right..."_

"_... the first galactic empire...!"_

"_It's on every holonet frequency-!"_

"_The possibility of assassination –"_

"_... testament named me his inheritor..."_

"NO!" Padmé screamed as she crumbled to the metal floor, sobbing helplessly.

Yes. He had destroyed the democracy she had given her youth and life to create. He had exterminated the last peacekeepers of the galaxy. He had paved the way for dictatorship. He had murdered his way to the throne... And she had never seen it. How? What had she been looking at?

* * *

Luke and Leia were ensconced in the playroom, blissfully unaware – until their mother burst through the doors, her eyes red, her hair in wild, tangled ringlets about her face...

Her son wriggled to his feet, murmuring her name questioningly, but Leia remained silent and stationary on the play cushion, yet to speak a word...

Ignoring the nurse droid's frantic whirrings, Padmé snatched up her children and rushed for the turbo-lift, punching in the code for the hanger bay, and praying desperately. She likely had less than twenty standard minutes – the nurse driod would have alerted the household security system by now, which activated a code directly to the 501st legion... and with them would come...

Grief and rage flooded her mind at the thought of him, just as the lift doors spun open.

Leia was whimpering in her arms, but she paid her no mind, entering the security over-ride into the gate shield system... the generators shut down instantly, and she set off at a maddened dash across the hanger, Luke clutching at her hand and racing to keep up...

The _Falcon _was docked in the third hanger port, and the entry bridge had already been lowered. Her bare feet scrambled against the durasteel, as her daughter wriggled frantically, a long wail beginning to stream from her little throat, only to be cut off by the anguished roar that carried through the enormous chamber-

"PADMÉ!"

Blaster rifles could be heard snapping from every alcove –

She screamed and pulled the children beneath the overhang of the bridge, red lasers burning into the hull of the vessel – warning shots – and in her panic, she almost failed to notice the tiny body squirming free of her grip...

"LEIA, NO-!" she cried helplessly as the two year old ran – _ran_ – through the storm of blaster fire –

"_DADDY!" _she screamed – her first word since birth – as she flung herself into her father's arms, directly in front of a battalion of clone troopers.

* * *

Vader clung to his daughter – his beauty, his princess – his mouth pressed to her dark hair as he rocked her gently, fixing his eyes on her mother, yards away.

Eyes that had turned yellow.

Seething.

**A.N. - Review? Maybe? Please?**


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